Ghosts
by Noxid Anamchara
Summary: Carol watches over the group one cold night as the ghosts of her past keep her from sleeping. But she isn't the only one who's haunted. Caryl.


**Nox**: So I was _inspired_ by a quote from 'The Perks of Being a Wallflower'. One that I believe fits our _Caryl_ so beautifully. This doesn't follow any of my other fics.

And this is for all of my Caryl readers.

**Disclaimer**: The Walking Dead belongs to Kirkman and AMC.

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Ghosts

It was cold and for once, she was the only one awake. Even Daryl was asleep which was a miracle in itself. Though she had no doubt the man needed it. He'd been pushing four hour nights and she knew it. Knew it by the dark circles under his eyes, the way his feet dragged when he thought no one was looking, and the way his shoulders hunched just barely.

She was probably the only one to have noticed these small changes in him. Of course, she was also the only one who ever noticed much these days. Everyone else was so caught up in their own selves she suspected they didn't have much thought for each other.

She hated that thought. Hated that as the winter wore on, they all grew a little more distant, even while they all banded together to fight. It was like they were warriors without the camaraderie. It made her lonely most nights.

Like tonight. She watched Glenn and Maggie curl closer together. Hershel's arm around Beth. They slept off to one side of the dying fire. Lori and Carl huddled together, Rick not far off from them, but still not together. She couldn't believe the rift that was growing between them. It was a shame, when the world was already dying. She watched T-Dog shiver beside her, and she pulled his blanket up around his shoulders. And then Daryl to her other side, half lying, half sitting against a tree.

She curled her knees to her chest, shivering, staring into the fire. The group was as close as they could be, while still being apart emotionally. The secret that Rick had kept, that they were all _infected_, had ripped a chasm between them all. And it was growing every day. She wondered when the bridge would be built, what it would take for them to come together again. She hoped it didn't take someone's death.

She shivered, and pulled her own blanket tighter around her shoulders.

She had finally told Rick to bed down because it became apparent as the night wore on that she wasn't going to sleep. And if she wasn't, then one of them should. Because every time she closed her eyes, she could see them.

All she could see was Andrea's face, telling her to run. Andrea's face pale and gaunt, gray lifeless eyes.

Telling her it was her fault she was dead.

And Sophia's voice called out to her in the night, crying, panting in terror. Calling out 'mama' in the dark.

Except it wasn't _Sophia's_ voice anymore. It was the gurgling, moaning, choking sound of the thing she had _become_.

And then she could hear Ed screaming at her, feel the echoes of his fists against her. Pushing her, pulling her hair, slamming her into the wall. Telling her she was useless.

Telling her she couldn't do a god damn thing.

And then it wasn't Ed anymore, but a thing of Ed, holding her down, _suffocating _her, straddling her, trying to _eat _her.

She buried her face in her knees, the blanket scratchy. She breathed deep, trying to remember that none of it was _real_, that she was right here and everything was still the same. Sophia was in heaven now, Andrea could still be alive, and Ed was _gone_.

But they were haunting her, the things she had failed in life. And it didn't matter what she tried to tell herself in the dark of the night. It didn't matter what she did to try to _forget_. Because every night they still came back.

She shivered, and shook her head to dispel the memories of those ghosts.

She grabbed her knife, a sudden moan to her left alarming her. She couldn't see anything in the darkness, but the glow of the fire gave her a false sense of security. That, and the others surrounded around her.

There was a shifting, and then silence followed. She waited on bated breath, letting her hand fall to her side, the knife resting on the ground.

When there was nothing for some time she relaxed a little but never let go of that knife. She wasn't going to take that chance. She tossed a few more sticks on the fire to keep it going slowly.

She didn't even know she was drifting until she heard the moaning again, the shifting in the darkness and her head dipped up again from her chest. Her eyes opening groggily. She cursed herself for falling asleep _now_ of all times and stared into the darkness surrounding them, the trees like silent figures in the night.

And this time she realized it was closer, louder, more _painful_. Like someone struggling to breathe. Someone who was injured. She glanced down and froze.

Daryl tossed to the side, mumbling something incoherent before letting out a low moan of pain, his face contorted as he gripped the crossbow tight. She'd never seen such a look on his face before, like he was in such pain, something not quite physical but still torturous.

"Don't…" he muttered under his breath. She leaned forward, over his body as the poncho twisted around his arms.

"Git off…" he growled lowly, jerking his head away from her, trying to shift his arms again. The problem was that he was trapped. Trapped by the material of the poncho. Trapped by the haunting nightmares of sleep.

She wanted to wake him, but knew how dangerous that could be. The crossbow wasn't the only weapon he slept with.

And she knew what it was like to wake to someone suddenly over you. To that looming darkness, the black, indistinct figure above you, who you didn't know in those first moments of waking up. It was like waking to the suffocating feeling of knowing that there was no _escape_.

She didn't know how many times she'd woken to Ed, looming over her in the darkness of their bedroom. And each time had ended with him taking control of her in one way or another.

It made her wonder what _he_ had suffered in the darkness, what the demons were that made him sleep with the crossbow clutched tight in one hand, and the knife she knew was concealed under the poncho. What made him sleep so far away from everyone else, even when the nights grew so cold you had to curl close to the others, no matter how uncomfortable you might have been.

She would watch him shiver in his sleep on those nights, until she threw her own blanket across him.

He moaned again, this time a low keen that made her chest clench. He curled in on himself and she knew she couldn't watch this continue.

"Daryl," she whispered, reaching out to touch his shoulder gently. He'd not wanted to sleep amongst the circle to begin with, but she'd insisted on it. He needed to stay close for safety, and for warmth. She'd wanted it for her own peace of mind.

He didn't respond, and his fists clenched, his nails digging into his palms. She could hear his teeth grind, his jaw tense.

"Daryl," she tried again, a little louder, squeezing harder.

She flinched as he jerked upright and his knife was at her throat. He was breathing heavy, chest expanding rapidly. His eyes were wild as if he didn't know where he was. The knife quivered against her throat, but she kept her hand on his shoulder, soft, gentle.

She knew not to make any quick movements.

"It's me Daryl," she whispered softly, letting her hand fall from him. His eyes focused on her face, the knife at her throat. She felt something warm glide down her neck. He swallowed heavily, and his arm began to shake.

She smiled a little, placing her hand over his forearm. It was so tense. "You're okay," she murmured.

He pulled his arm back sharply, eyes darting back to her neck. She could see the regret in them, the guilt and the shame. He grunted and shifted away from her.

"Don' need none a ya pity," he barked back softly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the others. And she knew that was as much of an apology as she was going to get, though she never expected one. That wasn't what was important. She crossed her arms across her chest, and looked back at the fire, nodding.

"You wanna talk about it?" He glanced at her sharply, pulling the crossbow into his lap. He looked out into the darkness.

"None a ya business," he murmured darkly. "Whaddaya doin' up anyway? Thought it was Rick's watch." She smiled and curled the blanket around her shoulders again, burying her face in the folds.

"When I close my eyes I see them," she said softly. His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer to her.

"Andrea, Sophia," she said looking up at him. He looked away, his shoulders hunching. "Ed," she whispered back to the fire. He turned on her then, glaring harshly.

"The hell you mean?" She sighed.

"I can't close my eyes without seeing their faces. Screaming at me. Yelling at me. Calling out my name in the darkness," she said brokenly. The guilt and the pain were tearing her apart and she didn't know how to stop it.

"Telling me I'm _useless_," she breathed. "Telling me I can't do nothing right." He looked away then, eyes distant. And she knew she'd found the center of his pain. The source of his nightmares.

"You can tell me what it is that haunts you in sleep Daryl," she said, drawing closer to him. He looked afraid then, leaning away from her. She cast her eyes down, fearing she was going to unintentionally push him further away from her. But she needed him to _know_ that she was there. That no matter what it was, she was always going to be there.

"You can't scare me," she said softly, her hand brushing at the small wound on her neck. "I'm not going anywhere." He swallowed hard, looked away.

And she didn't think he was going to talk to her, he sat there in silence for so long.

"I keep seein'im, in my head. Can't sleep without him comin' in an' doin' things…" he strayed off, eyes never looking away from the fire.

"Doin' all the shit he used to do," he finished forcefully like he didn't want to admit it. She pulled her knees to her chest, laid her head on them, face turned towards him.

"Your father?" He looked at her, mouth set in a hard line. She could see the way his eyes told her what he couldn't with words.

His father. The pain. The _shame_.

She felt her eyes start to burn, but took a small breath, held them close. She intertwined her fingers together so she wouldn't reach out to him. These were things _she _needed, not him.

She only tried to convey to him through her own eyes that despite what he had gone through he was still here. He was a better man than him. He was still _alive_.

That no matter what had happened to him in his past, he had done so much for her daughter Sophia and he was the one person in this godforsaken world that she wanted to see _thrive_.

He would never know just how much he meant to her.

"Why?" he asked, the pain in his voice squeezing her heart. She could feel the confusion on her face, and she lifted her head.

"Why is he still here? Why do I still care?" he stared down into the palms of his hands, flexing his fingers. She could see now the crescent moon shapes where his fingernails had dug into them.

"Why'd I let him do all that shit to me, fer all those fuckin' years?" he moaned, face twisting in pain. She could feel something break inside of her, and she couldn't stop the tears as they slid down her cheeks, silent.

She knew what it was like, to think that someone loved you, to think that that was your world. She knew what it was like to know only one world, and to think that was all you had. That that was all you deserved. Even when all they did was cause you pain and suffering.

She reached forward and slid her hand into his, carefully.

"_We accept the love we think we deserve._"

He wasn't breathing, as he stared into her face, blue eyes shining bright. And she laid her head on his shoulder, the breath shuddering out of her, the tears falling unchecked.

It was pain they shared. The pain of their pasts. Of the ones they let hurt them, in the false belief that it was love. She knew that now. Knew it like she knew Sophia was in heaven, never coming back.

She intertwined her fingers with his, the scars on the back of his hand mapping out a history of what had been, of what she could only imagine she hadn't yet seen.

They made her heart ache.

And when he twisted his fingers with hers, she choked on her tears, and curled her arm around her stomach.

He grunted gruffly, his thumb rubbing circles along the base of her thumb. "Don't deserve no tears," he muttered weakly.

She laughed softly.

"No," she said softly, looking up. She reached up to run her fingers lightly across his cheek. He turned into it, just enough.

"You deserve far more."

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**A/N**: Oh the _Caryl_ feels - they just ran away from me. I couldn't help myself. This would be a one-shot, sorry if that disappoints.

_Love ya'll._

_. _


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